Lowest Common Denominator by Pirkko Saisio

Translated by Mia Spangenberg

Review by Karen Langley

Until recently, if asked to name a Scandinavian woman author, most readers might have plumped for Finland’s Tove Jansson. However, a spate of new releases by authors such as Tove Ditlevsen and Torborg Nedreaas has widened the field considerably; and Penguin have continued the trend with the latest writer to make it into translation – Finnish author Pirkko Saisio. Her book Lowest Common Denominator was originally published in 1998 and is now available in English, translated by Mia Spangenberg – and a fascinating read it is too. 

Saisio (b. 1949) is one of Finland’s most celebrated writers, as well as an actor and theatre director – her list of credits is impressive. Lowest Common Denominator is the first part of her Helsinki trilogy; described as an ‘autofictional novel’, it was written in the wake of the death of Saisio’s father. The book is narrated by a young girl growing up in 1950s Helsinki; as the only child of Communist parents, her life is often full of confusion and uncertainty. But pivotal to the story is her understanding of her place in the world and her ability to control her life by putting it at a distance, and this is signalled at the opening pages.

The first section of the book, entitled simply ‘she’, captures a moment in November when the narrator, at the age of 8, writes a sentence in her head referring to herself and her actions as happening to “she”. This, to me, pins down the moment when the narrator becomes a writer, observing herself and her life, and throughout the book the text will regularly switch between the first and third person as the growing girl attempts to come to terms with the world around her.

Young Pirkko declares early on in the narrative that she thinks she will grow up to be a boy, and certainly her life will not follow the traditional trajectory. Reflecting the real Saisio’s life, Pirkko will have a daughter and later a female partner, and will always be something of a tomboy. So the book takes us through the girl’s young years, her school experiences, her time spent staying with her grandparents, the events of her extended family (there are many aunts and uncles!) and her complex relationship with her beloved mother.

The glimpses of Finnish society during the years are particularly fascinating. Apparently, Finland was walking a difficult path at the time, keeping up a close relationship with the Soviet Union but also trying to stay on friendly terms with the West. So it’s relevant that Pirkko’s father works for the  Finland-Soviet Union Friendship Society. There are constant references to Lenin’s and Stalin’s complete works, which follow the family on their various moves yet remain unread; and it’s the works of Chekhov which will stir the youngster’s love of literature. 

Because

they aren’t in one of Chekhov’s Selected Stories after all, but in the middle of 1950s Finland, and from that yard in Mellunkylä her family will be off to rebuild Finland: they’ll toil in a textile factory, lay asphalt, and cut hair; they’ll print books, make Fazer candy, and help in a grocery store; they’ll build Solifer generators and work in the Department of Film Propaganda at the Finland–Soviet Union Society.

So the family moves on, from early years of poverty to more affluent times; Pirkko’s mother gets a job, initially working in a shop and then eventually running one of her own. Modern elements creep into the world, relatives age and die, and Pirkko has numerous crushes: from beauty queens to teachers, it’s clear where her emotions are leading her. Towards the end of the book, a pivotal point is reached when Pirkko passes the exams to get into Secondary School and Saisio hints at the future events which neither the girl or her father can anticipate. 

However, apart from the interest of Pirkko’s story, what sets this book apart is the unusual narrative structure. As I mentioned earlier, the text switches regularly between first and third person; but additionally it moves fluidly between past and present, and nothing is presented in a linear fashion. The decline and death of Pirkko’s father is mingled with her recollections of different parts of her life, perhaps a clever way to reflect the frame of mind of someone trying to deal with such a great change. Poignantly, she says at one point how much she misses her mother, and although the loss of that particular parent is not covered in depth here, I wonder whether it is in one of the later books?

But I’m unfazed by the harsh words and the thermometer, the aspirin and the Ruusu chocolate bar

because

mountains and valleys, sparkling winters and fickle springs open up before me; there are oceans and cities, screeching wails and sorrowful songs; clouds and processions; school days and the smell of asphalt; limping frogs and Stalin look-alikes with thick mustaches; ordinary mothers and brick rubble; African acrobats and coffee ads and evenings in the sauna; circuses, twins, and missing cigarette lighters; sadness, longing, the Miss Lunovas lost to the world; report cards, gravestones, and canned anchovies; tuberculosis and incomprehensible smells that dissipate in the wind; steamers sailing far away, the sweat in Mother’s armpits; mournful tears 

and fruit jellies; dirty dishpans and the secret passageways of worms; regret for the little children who’ve died for nothing and anticipation that smells like cinnamon.

And

everything that exists in the world is waiting for me to capture it in books.

As well as the fluidity of time and tense, the book often switches between modes in the middle of a sentence, with a break occurring in the centre of the narrative and the new paragraph sometimes continuing in a new tense. This is a little disorientating at first, but once you get used to it and into the flow of her writing, it becomes very compelling and hypnotic; it’s certainly an innovative way to present a story.

One of the strongest elements of the book was the pen portraits of Pirkko’s extended family, in particular her Grandmother and her Aunt Ulla – both of these characters spring off the page, and it’s clear Pirkko is very attached to them. Her relationship with her mother is perhaps less straightforward, particularly as the young girl begins to grow up and starts to understand that she will never conform to expectations of femininity. There’s also a telling first encounter with religion and Jesus, who she finds interesting as he has a beard like a man but wears a dress like a woman!

Lowest Common Denominator is a wonderful read, and its unusual structure never gets in the way of the fascination of Pirkko’s story. I knew little about the political situation in the Finland of this time, and so I would perhaps suggest doing a quick bit of reading up about it before starting on the book, as that background does inform the story. But that aside, this is a moving, often poignant and brilliantly written work about growing up confused and trying to discover who and what you are. I believe this trilogy is the first time Saisio has been translated into English, and I have to ask – what took so long? Hopefully the rest of the books are up to this standard!

Karen Langley blogs at kaggsysbookishramblings (www.kaggsysbookishramblings.wordpress.com)

Pirkko Saisio, Lowest Common Denominator (Penguin International Writers, 2025). 978-0241730096. 270pp., paperback.

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